With Wings

6

The lobby was now practically empty except for Sam, Scott, and all the other drama kids - all of them clearly wanting to leave, except Sam kept telling them to come back.

"Hey," Sam said, looking up and seeing us head across the lobby towards them. She stood up from where she had been sitting on the floor and came and met us halfway. "We were just going to head to the diner. Scott and Evan and Rachel and the others wanted to leave - I told them you'd be here any minute. Are you ready to go?"

It was a tradition - in middle school, after every play; and now in high school, after every Exposition and after every play, all the drama kids would head to the Sea Cat for hamburgers and Cokes and whatever. Free. It was a pretty big deal, because most of us - everybody, actually except Sam and I - were nice and comfortable when it came to financial security and weren't allowed to go to The Poor Part of Miami for any other occasion. It was also a pretty big deal because the Owens provided an entire meal for almost twenty kids on the house, which was not cheap, and their aforementioned lack of financial security made their generosity even more impressive. It was always fun, and we always stayed late into the night or into the earliest hours of the morning, when Mr. Owens loaded everybody who wasn't picked up by their parents into his van and we drove back and forth across pretty much the entire state, sharing our music with each other and drinking beer. ("Just a little," Mr. Owens always warned us. "I'm not a fan of you guys drinking, but you're going to end up doing it anyway; and I'd rather you do it here under my supervision, with each other, than in some weird orgy in the presence of hundreds of douchebag strangers." And it worked, surprisingly - none of us ever got drunk. None of us ever had to miss school the next day because of a hangover. And I don't think I've drank in any situation outside of Mr. Owens' van on Ex night, excepting special occasions with my brother - not that I was ever invited to any parties, anyway.) It was always a night to remember. It was always a night to look forward to.

"Yeah," I said. Sam smiled widely. "Let's go!" she told the others, and they whooped, and we all came spilling out of the school into the warm night.

"Opal, are you coming with us?" Sam asked her.

"You really should," I told her.

Opal smiled tightly and shook her head. "No, I don't think I will..." she said.

"I'm not sur-" Sam started to say, then stopped.

"Pardon?" Opal asked.

"Never mind," Sam said, and Nicole from far ahead laughed wildly at something that Ernest said and turned back and said, "Sam, oh my God, you have to listen to this story Ernest has-"

"Oh my God, they're already acting like they're drunk and they haven't even had a sip of Dad's beer yet," Sam muttered.

"We're drama kids," I pointed out. "Do we ever not act drunk?"

She laughed and jogged up to Nicole, linking her arm with hers as Ernest animatedly began retelling his story.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Opal suddenly grabbed my arm and stopped walking. I jolted to a stop as well. "Did you really mean that?" Opal asked me.

"What?" I asked.

"What you said earlier," Opal said, and when I looked at her quizzically, she sighed. "Everything. The rose. Stuff. I don't know." I was still attempting to wrap my head around her meaning, but she let go of my arm and started to walk away, saying panickedly "nevermindIdidn'treallymeananythinganywayjust-"

"No, no, Opal, wait," I said, and she stopped. I tried to see her eyes in the dark. "What do you mean?"

Her voice was suddenly very small. "Was that really how you feel? What you think? About... love; about roses; about... stuff."